Chicken Soup for the Slayer's Soul
by yellowcrayon7
Summary: Buffy goes out slaying with the flu, gets hurt, and Spike makes her feel better. Circa early season six.
1. Chapter 1

Buffy sneezed as she pursued a vampire at breakneck speed through the cemetery. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and sped up, pinning him to the side of a tomb. They exchanged a few blows but she ended up on the ground. The vampire held her down by her shoulders and leant back slightly, narrowing in for the kill.

There was a sudden whoosh and Buffy felt the weight lifted off of her. She opened her eyes to see a familiar silhouette standing over her, leather duster fluttering in the breeze.

Buffy ignored Spike's outstretched hand and hoisted herself up with the help of a nearby grave. Her head was pounding.

"I had it covered," she said hoarsely. Spike laughed disbelievingly.

"You all right, Slayer?" he asked without a hint of genuine concern. "You seem a bit off your game."

She felt off her game, too, and made to sit down on a headstone before the dizziness got the better of her. "I think I'm getting that flu Dawn had last week."

Spike smirked, and Buffy tried to say something reproachful but ended up in a coughing fit. "Hey there, love, cover your mouth."

"It's not like you can get sick anyway."

"Still, it's gross."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You're telling me?"

"Whatever. You should get on home and have some chicken soup with rice or what have you before some nasty—"

As he spoke, a couple of vampires emerged from a mausoleum. When they spotted Buffy and Spike, they charged. She stood up and took out her stake, shaking off the wooziness. Spike took down one vampire and Buffy started to fight with the other. After dusting the first, Spike blocked a blow from the vampire fighting Buffy and staked him easily.

"I told you I have it covered!" Buffy croaked, trying to regain composure and not sway. Her vision was getting blurry.

"Buffy?" Spike asked, moving towards her. She looked at him, woozy and utterly exhausted.

"Just… get lost…" Spike slipped a hand under her waist as she collapsed, holding up the ill slayer.

"Bollocks."


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy awoke slowly. Her senses returned one at a time, first hearing the sounds of a television then feeling something moist and cool on her forehead. After that she blinked open her eyes, surprised to find herself in the familiar dank interior of Spike's crypt.

The bleached vamp himself was curled up in an armchair next to her, apparently asleep. His mouth was slightly open and one arm was draped palm up over the arm of the chair. Buffy smiled at how vulnerable he looked.

His eyes opened, and he stared unfocused at her before snapping back to reality.

"Buffy," he stated.

"Spike…" she said. "What… um… what am I doing here?"

By this time Spike had regained his usual matter of fact swagger. "Couldn't just leave you there all incapacitated. Your little sis would have killed me. Plus, if you die of influenza I can't kill you myself."

Buffy propped herself up in what she realized was Spike's bed, removing a cool cloth from her forehead and brushing back her damp hair. "Thanks," she said sarcastically.

"So, feeling better then, are we?" He stood, rubbing his hands together impatiently.

She nodded, but this made her head pound. "I guess. You really didn't have to…" She held up the damp washcloth.

"I'm not exactly an expert on modern medicine, but you were pretty feverish back there. You sure you'll be alright?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Really, seriously fine. I don't need you to babysit me."

"Hey! I just about saved you from dying a while ago! You could at least show a guy some bleeding gratitude."

Buffy stood shakily, grabbing her coat from the back of the armchair and trying not to fall victim to the dizziness and heat that was still present through her whole body.

"Well, maybe I don't need any saving." She attempted to exit briskly and meaningfully, but stumbled.

Spike grasped her shoulders as she swayed. "Spike?" Buffy mumbled.

"Right here, pet. Stay with me." He led her over to the bed and laid his hand on her forehead. "You're burning up, love."

Buffy moaned softly. He placed a cool hand on her neck, expecting her to swipe it away, but she was too weak to protest. Spike pulled the covers over her shivering form and turned to walk away from the bed.

She opened her eyes blearily. "Could you stay here? For a while?"

He nodded. "Alright, love. S'alright." He sat down beside her and stroked her sweat-soaked hair. "S'gonna be alright."

Buffy smiled slightly as sleep took her.


	3. Chapter 3

When Buffy awoke again, her head was blissfully clear. She sat up, finding the armchair next to her empty. A sizzling sound was coming from the kitchen area across the room, and when she ventured over to investigate she found a pot of chicken soup on the stove.

There was a loud clang and Spike entered, flinging a smoking blanket on the ground.

"Buffy," he said. "You're awake."

Buffy nodded.

"You aren't going to fall over or anything, right?" he asked, surveying her cautiously.

"Nope. All-better Buffy." She smiled.

"Good to hear. Your sis has been worrying her little head off."

Buffy's expression turned to panic. "Oh my god, Dawn… What time is it?"

"Just after sundown," Spike answered, gesturing to a stone age digital clock on top of the television.

"Sundown?! I slept all day?"

Spike laughed. "Yeah."

She frowned. "Sorry."

"Not a problem, pet. Sit down for a minute and have some soup."

Buffy obliged gratefully, she was desperately hungry. Spike brought a bowl to the rickety table and sat down across from her with a mug of blood.

They drank and fed in silence. Buffy glanced tentatively at the vamp-faced Spike when she finished her soup. "Listen, I should probably get home. Check on Dawn, you know, tell her I'm all right… but thanks for, well, saving my life and everything."

"Anytime. Here, lemme walk you home."

"You really don't have to…"

He raised his eyebrows, insistent. "I'm not gonna let some vamp take a piece out of you when I just spent my last can of chicken soup making you feel better. You're still not a hundred percent."

Buffy opened her mouth to retort, but realized he was probably right. "Okay."

She stood, picking up her coat, and followed him out the door.

The breeze felt nice on her face, which was still warm from the fever. Spike looked at her anxiously a couple of times, but she mustered a grin to hide her fatigue.

"I can't believe you made me soup," she said with a sly smile as they neared her drive way.

Spike paused, slipping into his awkward genuine tone of voice. "I just can't stand seeing you in pain. Breaks my heart."

Buffy looked hard into his eyes and saw that he was deadly serious. She faced him at the front door and took his hand carefully. "Thanks. Truly."

He smiled, the jokester taking hold again. "Alright. Now go take a shower."

"Hey, it's not that bad… is it?" He laughed, and Buffy grinned. There was a long pause and she leaned in carefully to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "For the soup," she whispered, before disappearing into the house.

Spike lingered on the porch for a moment, dumbfounded, then walked on with a grin on his face.


End file.
